


The Ballad of Robin Courfhood and Lady Jehamarian

by astrid_fischer



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, M/M, Not an ACTUAL Robin Hood AU I apologize
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-18 00:25:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1408159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrid_fischer/pseuds/astrid_fischer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Courfeyrac causes a scene in a Starbucks (but wins his fair damsel anyway).</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ballad of Robin Courfhood and Lady Jehamarian

“Courf, stop,” Jehan begs.

His entire face is bright red and he appears to be trying to hide himself in his enormous kitten-print sweater, which Courfeyrac finds frankly adorable.

“I cannot stop, Lady Marian,” Courfeyrac calls back, if anything even more loudly (because he was a theater kid, after all, and boy does he know how to make his voice carry when he wants to). “Not until you free yourself from the clutches of the evil Sheriff and come away with me to the forest.”

Courfeyrac is currently on the bottom floor of a two-level Starbucks, wearing cuffed green skinny jeans, a white v-neck, and a green fedora with a red paper feather taped onto it.

He’d pranced in five minutes ago, gotten down on one knee next to the coffee display, and dramatically proclaimed his desire that Jehan would come downstairs (whilst calling him “Marian” as many times as possible).

This is, probably, what Jehan wishes he would stop.

“Please get up,” Jehan says, his voice muffled because his face is in his hands now. He’s sitting up on the second level, at a table right by the metal railing (unlucky for him, and _very_ lucky for Courfeyrac).

Montparnasse, sitting across from Jehan at the tiny table, lounging in his leather jacket and combat boots, looks annoyed but not livid, and Courf thinks that’s part of the problem.

Someone trying to steal Jehan should make you livid. It should make you call a showdown at dawn, with seconds and swords and the whole shebang. It should make you ready to march off to war.

Courfeyrac does not get up. Instead he puts one hand theatrically to his heart and extends the other towards their table on the upper level. “There is no time to be lost, my love! We must be off! My noble steed is waiting outside!”

One of the baristas is frowning at the disruption, but the others are grinning and whispering to each other. The line of students waiting for coffee has completely ceased to move, because everyone seems to have decided they would much rather watch the scene unfolding before them than get to class on time.

Courfeyrac’s grin only broadens (because if there’s one thing he loves, it’s an audience).

He and Jehan had talked the night before, on a bench in the quad outside Courf’s dorm, under the feeble pretense of trading philosophy notes but really because Jehan was sad and he needed to talk to somebody and the only person he wanted to talk to was Courfeyrac.

Nothing at all had happened (because Jehan was with Montparnasse, even if they were in one of their off-again phases, and Jehan didn’t cheat) but there had been a moment right before they’d said goodbye, one of a hundred, one of a _thousand_ , since their first meeting three months ago. It was one moment too many, and suddenly Courf couldn’t stand it anymore.

Courfeyrac, Combeferre, and Jehan had been watching _Robin Hood_ on Netflix for weeks now, which was how Courf had found out that Jehan had a bit of a thing for outlaws. That, in turn, was what had spurred this rather impulsive idea.

Grantaire had called him an idiot and tried to slap any part of him he could reach when Courf had bounded back into their shared dorm room to rip Grantaire’s blankets off of his sleeping form and explain his plan.

He’d called him an idiot, but he’d also consented to text Courfeyrac to let him know where Montparnasse and Jehan were planning to meet for lunch (because even if Grantaire is grouchy when he’s woken up at one in the morning, he’s a romantic at heart).

This is a huge risk, Courfeyrac knows. This could end with him publicly humiliated in the coffeeshop across the street from campus. He may be banned from Starbucks for life. Jehan may hate him. Montparnasse may break both of his kneecaps.

But the memory of the way Jehan smiled at him last night under the campus streetlights, wearing his ridiculous Hello Kitty shirt, means Courfeyrac has to try.

“Robin Courfhood will not tolerate this injustice!” he proclaims now, pointing an accusing finger at Montparnasse, whose dark eyes have narrowed to slits. “Come, Jehamarian! Leave this rogue behind! We will return to my hideout in Sherwood Forest, that I may ravish you!”

_Now_ Montparnasse gets to his feet, but Jehan lunges to grab his arm and hold him in place.

(It’s not that Montparnasse is _mean_ to Jehan, exactly. He’s just not as nice as Jehan deserves.

He makes Jehan sad without realizing, and Jehan deserves flowers and serenades and someone to give him piggy-back rides across the quad when he’s tripped on a crack in the sidewalk and twisted his ankle because he was busy looking up at a cloud which he insists was shaped like a rabbit.

Purely hypotheticals, of course.)

“I’m going to call Combeferre for help,” Jehan tells Courfeyrac now, but his voice is more plaintive than threatening.

And Courf smiles, his wolfish grin. “Darling. Who do you think made me this fetching hat?”

Jehan makes a wailing sound and pulls his sweater up over his head.

Montparnasse still seems uncertain as to whether he should laugh or go downstairs and punch Courfeyrac in the face (and wow, but they all know who’s winning that fight, so Courf really hopes he doesn’t try because he likes his face).

The conflict is decided when his phone buzzes on the table, and Montparnasse frowns down at the screen before sighing and snatching it up. Courfeyrac would put money on it being Eponine’s dad, who employs Montparnasse to do—well, Courf’s never really been sure about that, but he thinks he’s probably better off not knowing.

Montparnasse pauses for a moment, glaring down at Courfeyrac, then stomps over to the stairs and down to the ground level. Courf edges away as the other man passes, shoving the doors open so he can take the call outside.

The look Montparnasse gives him as he goes by makes Courfeyrac very, very certain that he’s getting hit when this phone call is done.

He should probably care more about that, but can’t quite bring himself to. He pirouettes back to look up at Jehan again. “Well, my lady? Have you made your decision?”

“If I cry, will you feel bad?” Jehan asks in a morose, muffled voice, having tucked himself up almost entirely into the oversized sweater.

But Courfeyrac will not be swayed. He knows he doesn’t have that much time before Montparnasse comes back, but he also knows there’s one more thing he needs to say.

“The wicked Sheriff of Nottingparnasse may stand between us, Jehamarian,” he calls up, spreading his arms wide, “but nothing can stop me from loving you.”

And, well, that makes Jehan come out of his sweater.

“What did you just say?” he asks, peering over the side of the railing. His face is still very pink.

“I love you, Jean Prouvaire,” Courfeyrac says again, more seriously.

He drops his arms back to his sides and shrugs, smiling up at the poet in the cable-knit kitten sweater. “I love you more than he ever will, more than he ever _could_ , and I want you to come with me, right now.”

“You’re _insane_ ,” Jehan tells him, but his voice is softer.

“Maybe,” Courf acknowledges, because he is after all still wearing a hat with a fake feather taped to it. “I still think you want to come with me.”

“It’s not that easy,” is the other man’s reply, but Courfeyrac can hear the hesitation in his voice now. He can hear that he wants to come with him, and that makes Courfeyrac brave.

“Yes it is,” Courf contradicts him with a very white smile. “Darling, it’s _exactly_ that easy. If you don’t love me, you can stay up there in your tower and I will be forced to pine after you until your thuggish male escort returns and pummels me.”

He pulls the hat off his head and sweeps a bow. “If you _do_ love me—or think you might someday, I’m not picky—all you have to do is come downstairs.”

In the end, it’s not really a difficult decision.

Jehan has loved Courfeyrac since he first saw the tawny-haired boy across the room his Ethics discussion class, and he loved the first words out of his mouth, and he has loved him every night he’s seen him since, and every night he hasn’t.

But he wants to punish Courf, just a little, for accosting him in the middle of a café, so he leans over the rail and asks brightly, “May I have a few moments to think about it?”

He’s rewarded by Courf’s whining, wordless plea.

Jehan at last skips down the stairs and into Courfeyrac’s arms, and Courf dips him back and kisses him (and yes, Jehan thinks dazedly, this was a _good_ decision), and it turns out people actually _do_ applaud just like in the movies sometimes.

“I shall properly kiss you once we are at least three blocks away,” Courf assures Jehan as they leave the Starbucks, the taller man peering jumpily from side to side.

“’Parnasse has a motorcycle,” Jehan reminds him with a sweet smile, taking his hand. “You might want to walk faster.”


End file.
